


The Night After

by toyhto



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Episode: s06e09 Battle of the Bastards, R plus L equals J, So half-siblings being a bit weird -kind of a wibe, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but they don't know it yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:01:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toyhto/pseuds/toyhto
Summary: This time she knocks on the door.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is written for two prompts in valar-morekinksplease. I feel almost a bit weird about this story. Almost.
> 
> [Subjunctive](http://archiveofourown.org/users/subjunctive) betaed this story, thank you! Mistakes are my own.

She holds her breath and presses her back against the cold stone wall. She should rise onto her feet and walk away. She would see Jon later, perhaps tomorrow morning, and then she wouldn’t say one word and he would never know.  
  
She doesn’t walk away, though, she only presses her eyes shut when there’s a deep low voice that’s clearly coming from Jon.  
  
The girl had long brown hair, soft curves and tanned skin. That’s everything she saw in those few seconds she hold the door slightly open. The girl in Jon’s bed could be anyone, and Sansa doesn’t care, not really. It’s not her face that’s imprinted on her mind right now. It’s not her she’s thinking about, it’s Jon.  
  
She opens her eyes. It doesn’t matter, she’s not watching them, she’s only sitting right next to their room, hearing everything, every single breath and moan and thrust. She thought the sight of Ramsay would stay with her for the whole night and perhaps many to come, she thought what she would hear in the darkness would be Ramsay’s shouts when the dogs bit the man’s face off. It must be that she’s lost her mind, perhaps, or that she’s merely so terribly tired. It’s been a long time since she has known anything but blood and death. Perhaps that’s why she sits frozen on the floor, listening as Jon’s breathing goes faster and faster.  
  
_Yes._ That’s it. She just killed a man. She’s going mad with all that’s happened. She tries to gather her thoughts, and then Jon swears loudly.  
  
She hears the girl panting, and then she realizes it’s not the girl, it’s her.  
  
Jon asks something, _can I_ , she thinks, and her heart is beating against her hand as she holds it onto her chest. Her heartbeats are growing faster. _Please_ , she thinks she hears Jon say, Jon who just beat Ramsay in the courtyard until his eyes went red.  
  
She bites her lip and tastes blood, but Jon swears again and her fingers have already pushed the tails of her dress aside. Her skin is warm down there and her fingers are cold but that doesn’t stop her, the thought of somebody walking by doesn’t stop her. She breathes deeply and Jon moans, he must be close, he must be almost there, he has still blood all over him and surely he’s deadly tired, surely he’s completely worn out by the long day of fighting. He almost died. Perhaps his wounds are still dripping blood, perhaps the girl is caressing his hair and whispering soft words into his ears and he’s not hearing any of it because he’s just too tired. Perhaps he’s thinking about how he would have killed Ramsay if Sansa hadn’t been there. Perhaps his hands are trembling and he’s going to come, right now, and for one second he’s about to feel something else, think about something else, forget all about this day and -  
  
She hears him.  
  
She keeps going anyway. She could do this, she could forget about everything else. Ramsay’s touch would be gone, the sound of men dying would be gone. There’s warmth building inside of her and Jon is saying something with a quiet, low voice, and he’s so familiar, he’s the only person she can trust anymore, and he must be caressing the girl now, holding her and perhaps kissing her.  
  
She almost does come. Then there are steps on the stone floor and she rises onto her feet as fast as she can, fixing her dress and wiping her fingers onto the fabric. But the steps pause and she hears Jon sigh, and that’s the last of it. When the door opens with a creak, she’s far gone.  
  
**  
  
This time she knocks on the door. The girl is gone and Jon is sitting on the chair in front of the fire, slowly taking off the rest of his clothes. His moves are slow and clumsy, his fingers don’t seem to know what they are doing. He’s staring at the flames and doesn’t tear his gaze away even when she steps into the room.  
  
Her hands are steady as she presses them onto his shoulders. There’s a deep sigh coming from somewhere inside him, some hidden place she will never know, _can_ never know, but just for tonight she leans closer and he sighs again. He’s tensing against her touch, but she pretends she doesn’t notice. His shirt is stained with blood and when she finally manages to get it off him, his shoulders seem to loosen up just a little.  
  
“Sansa,” he says, and she has to close her eyes because it’s been barely half an hour since she listened him through the door, “you don’t have to help me. You must be tired, you must be– “  
  
“Be silent,” she says, “be still.” And he does. He does, and it’s probably the first time he’s ever done what she tells him to, without a fight.  
  
The servant has made a bath for him, and she can’t help wondering if it was the same girl he had in his bed. Her hands don’t tremble as she kneels down to help him undress his trousers, and he looks at her with eyes so tired it makes her wonder how he can bear it. She takes her eyes elsewhere and he takes a sharp breath, and then he’s sitting there, naked.  
  
She helps him into the bath. He closes his eyes but she can’t. The water turns red.  
  
“Jon,” she says as she carefully pushes her fingers into his hair, “I’m sorry. You said you didn’t want to fight. I made you.”  
  
“Don’t,” Jon says with a broken voice, “don’t go there. It’s over.”  
  
“You could have died.”  
  
“But I didn’t,” he says with hollow emptiness in his voice, and she finds herself holding onto hair that’s sticky with sweat and mud and blood, “others did. I killed men. I killed Northern men.”  
  
“You had no choice,” she says, and he laughs in a joyless tone.  
  
“Aye.” He’s speaking so quietly she barely hears him now. “Perhaps I hadn’t. Perhaps I had. I wish I had killed one more, though. I wish I had beaten him dead before I saw you.”  
  
“I let his dogs on him,” she says. Her voice sounds almost soft but she can feel him tremble under her touch. “And I was there, watching. I’m glad you left that one for me.”  
  
“I didn’t want that for you,” he says. “I have blood in my hands. Whatever I do, it won’t leave me. I don’t want that for you.”  
  
“I wanted to see him die.”  
  
“I want to forget.” His voice is barely more than a sigh now, and she’s leaning onto him, washing the blood off his chest and arms and back. He lets her. She bites her lip, trying to forget the moans still lingering in her ears, and he breathes deep and steady and leans onto her touch. “I want to forget what I did.”  
  
“We can’t,” she says with a clear voice.  
  
“I know. _I know._ Sansa, you shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be with me. I’m a broken man, I’m barely more than a ghost –“  
  
“I heard you,” she says. Her hands are once again in his hair, drawing small circles on his scalp. There’s still mud in there, and blood. It seems she can never wash it all away. “You and the girl. I didn’t recognize her.”  
  
“But –“ he breathes in, “but we were –“  
  
“I came to your room. I wanted to talk to you. I opened the door and saw you and backed away. And then I heard you.”  
  
“You were listening,” he says very slowly, “you were listening when I –“  
  
He pauses as she takes a firmer grip on his hair. She hears him sigh, and then he straightens in the bathtub and carefully places himself against her. His back is leaning onto her waist and her fingers are still in his hair. Her dress is quickly getting soaking wet with water and, perhaps, blood.  
  
“I’ll wash you clean,” she says and he stays still under her touch, “as well as I can, and then you’ll sleep, and then there’s going to be another morning.”  
  
“Aye,” he says with a worn voice, “aye.”  
  
She tries and he lets her. And still, there’s always something, blood under his fingernails, wounds she didn’t notice, and the water is stained with blood, her hands and arms and dress are stained with blood, and she knows that there will be another morning but he won’t forget.  
  
They won’t forget.

**Author's Note:**

> The two prompts for which I wrote this were _Sansa stumbles upon Jon and another character (?Tormund, ?random person) having sex, and stays to watch. She fantasizes about being able to make Jon writhe and scream like that herself._ and _Post BotB, Jon is exhausted and exhausted. Sansa, feeling a little guilty that she sent her already traumatized brother into battle, takes it upon herself the blood and grime from Jon's body and hair. But she can never wash away what he's done and seen; all the blood on his hands._
> 
> Also, I didn't really know if this was Mature or perhaps just Teen And Up! If you feel like the rating is far too high, feel free to tell me. Also I'm learning that tumblr is the place for fangirling and shipping these days, so if you want to say hi, [there I am](http://toyhto.tumblr.com)!


End file.
